


USUK Dimension Transcension Week 2016

by harin91



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Alternate Universe - World War II, Alternate Universe - Youtubers, Cardverse, Fanart, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Spy!AU, Sweet Devil, The man from U.N.C.L.E. crossover, USUK Dimension Transcension Week 2016, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-05 22:58:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6726775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harin91/pseuds/harin91
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A week of entries for the Dimension Transcension Week organised by The USUK Network on Tumblr</p><p><b>Day 2</b>: War & Soulmates<br/><b>Day 3</b>: Cardverse or Sweet Devil?<br/><b>Day 5</b>: AU of choice & Canon<br/><b>Day 6</b>: Choose two or more AU<br/><b>Day 7</b>: Free day!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day 2: War & Soulmates - Hang in there

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to participate to this month's contest by The USUK Network on Tumblr!  
> We received one prompt a day, so I'll be posting my entries daily on this work until the 7th of May.  
> Please note that these works are **not beta-ed** and English is not my first language.
> 
>  **Day 2** : War & Soulmates - Hang in there  
> Alfred and Arthur are soulmates. Their tattoos say “Please, call the nurse” and “Hang in there, brother”. They meet in a camp hospital during the War.

Alfred F. Jones had always known he was going to be in a hospital sooner or later.

Not because he was a pessimistic guy like some of the other soldiers he had met during the boot camp, who had already given up on life and thought they were going to die or at least loose a limb during the war.

Not even because he wanted to be a doctor in the future, when he would be back to the States at the end of the war (see? He used 'when', not 'if'!). In fact, he wanted to become a firefighter.

He knew he was going to be in a hospital because of the soulmate tattoo on his arm, in the exact same spot where everyone else had it.

His tattoo read 'Please, call the nurse' so of course that meant Alfred was gonna be somewhere near a nurse when they would eventually meet and where do nurse normally work at? Bingo: hospitals.

Like many others, he too had dreamt about the prophetic moment since he had known about tattoos and soulmates and all of those things, so of course he was ready for it to happen.

Maybe just... not exactly like this.

 

He woke up and realised he was lying down on his back on what seemed to be a bed.

He couldn't move his head without hurting, so he just tried to figure out where he was judging by the only thing he could see: a white ceiling. What he heard: distant noises too soft to be recognisable and a bunch of very heavy breathings all around him, which meant he was in some sort of dormitory (he guessed the sound right away after one year of sleeping in small rooms and bunk beds with all his fellow soldiers). What he smelt: a heavy stink of medical alcohol and other disinfectants.

What he remembered: being shot in the leg on a beach in Normandy and losing conciousness while waiting for the red cross.

He was in a military hospital.

And he was hurting all over and couldn't move and he also was kind of hungry and wasn't sure if he could speak, at the moment.

He wasn't even able to make sure his leg was still attached to his body or if he had lost or injured other parts while falling down and fainting, freezing in the mud.

 

The only thing he could be sure of, right at the moment, was that one of the previously soft and regular breathing he heard in his proximity, was becoming a shaking, difficult wheezing interrupted by fits and moans of pain.

It seemed the fellow occupying the bed on Alfred's right was having a hard time breathing.

Poor guy. He heard quick shifts of limbs of sheets and a rasping voice trying to gurgle something through the coughs.

The soldier was trying to speak.

Alfred waited, but he didn't hear any other movement inside the room and he realised it probably was night-time and the doctors and nurses were all elsewhere at the moment.

The soldier was losing his breath and strength, faintly knocking one hand on the metal of the bed's headboard and forcing a hiss of pain through gritted teeth.

Alfred panicked and tried to move around, tried to find his voice to call for help.

He closed his eyes and compressed his aching chest and struggled to breath from his mouth, move his vocal cords.

It was then that he heard the other patient sigh and whimper and murmur to him: “Please... call... the nurse.” in a small, pained voice. With a heavy English accent.

Alfred's heart started pounding faster, loud in his ears. He gasped loudly and immediately started calling for help: “A doctor! Please, a nurse or a doctor!”

The heavy breathing to his right stopped for an instant, as if the man had realised someone was trying to help him. Alfred shouted again for help, his voice more and more stable at every word. Then he heard footsteps move quickly toward their direction and the only other thing left to do was try and reassure the guy, the one in probably way more pain than him.

He lowered his voice and said: “Hang in there, brother.” trying his best to sound calm.

“What is it? Where are you hurting?” asked suddenly a panicked female voice. Something touched his left arm and he quickly replied: “Not me! To my right!” he instructed: “The guy's not breathing!”.

The nurse cursed under his breath at what must have been the sight of the other bed and moved fast to Alfred's right and he heard someone else approaching.

“He's bleeding!”

“Quick, lift his head!”

“I can't move it, he won't be able to breath properly...”

“He's not breathing already! Move him!”

Soon the sound of wheels on the floor came closer and in an instant the doctors and nurses had the patient transported to the nearest private room for who knows what operation.

Silence fell back, quick and heavy.

The slow breathing and almost snoring of other injured soldiers could be heard again.

Alfred sighed, still in his rigid position, now only able to blink and use his voice.

Then the realisation of what had happened hit him: the soldier, the British guy to his right who was now fighting for his life, had said the words.

He was his soulmate.

And he didn't even know if the guy was going to survive or if they would be able to meet again, especially since Alfred was still unable to move and the other had been taken who knew where.

He panicked again, breath coming out in loud, big gulps from his mouth.

Then he realised he was crying, whispering softly: “Please, save him... please, don't die...” to the ceiling, all he was able to look at.

Alfred had always known he was a hero and he had never doubted he was going to survive and go back to his normal life in America.

He didn't fear death. Unless, he realised, it was threatening the life of his soulmate.

 

He must have fallen asleep after crying too much.

And he somehow could feel more his limbs now, numb because of the long sleep and inactivity but definitely less hurting and, more importantly, all there.

He was still on his back, facing the ceiling, but he found out he could now move his neck and head so he turned to look at the bed on his right: to his surprise, it was occupied.

The morning light streamed from a window near the beds and illuminated the white sheets covering the bent legs of a soldier in a light blue nightwear, with his back propped against the headboard, reading a book with concentration.

Alfred could see the slim, small profile of the other's body and his light blond hair and although he couldn't be sure the guy was his soulmate, he heard his heart beat faster and his breath hitch.

He tried to shift and turn around, but failed to move. However, the sound of his feet and legs jostling under the sheets draw the attention of the other, who lifted his head in surprise and looked straight at Alfred's eyes.

Emerald green eyes met sky blues.

The soldier smiled softly and Alfred did the same: “Hi,” he rasped, his voice still sore.

“Hello,” greeted the familiar stranger, with a very strong and very nice English accent.

“I'm Alfred,”

“Arthur.” replied the Brit, closing his book and extending his legs to give all his attention to the American soldier next to him: “You've been asleep for one whole day.” he added.

“Oh...” reacted the American, surprised. Then, what had happened in the meantime? Was this guy his soulmate or just another British soldier who happened to need a bed in the same hospital?

“I was waiting for you to wake up so I could thank you for saving my life,” said then Arthur, blushing slightly: “The other night, when I had an attack.”

Alfred threw all his thoughts away and smiled his nicest, biggest smile: “You're him.” he said.

Arthur looked away for a moment, embarrassed. The pink of his cheeks so evident against his pale skin, slightly freckled.

God, if this wasn't the most gorgeous creature Alfred had ever seen in his life. He could even let the other's enormous eyebrows pass, for how extremely perfect Arthur was in everything else.

“And you're him.” replied then the Englishman, happily looking back at Alfred.

“What does your tattoo say?” he asked, curious.

“It says 'hang in there, brother',” replied steadily Arthur: “What about yours?”

“It's 'please, call the nurse',” said Alfred, grinning.

“Oh, Lord... I'm very sorry. I gave you the worst first line ever, didn't I?” laughed Arthur.

“I don't mind,” shrugged Alfred, wanting so badly to be able to move and get nearer the other, touch him.

Arthur must have sensed his distress, because he extended one arm (the other was bandaged and hung on his shoulder, noted Alfred) and touched Alfred's right hand on the sheets.

“Nice to meet you, my hero.” said Arthur, smiling softly.

Oh, Alfred would never stop smiling like an idiot after this.

 


	2. Day 3: Cardverse or Sweet Devil?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today's entry is a fanart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s now clear I’ve completely reinterpreted the concept of this challenge, I hope it’s still okay and you still like it! XD

You can see it, like and reblog it on my Tumblr page.


	3. Day 5: AU of choice & Canon - the man from A.U.N.T.I.E.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Day 5** : AU of choice & Canon - the man from A.U.N.T.I.E.  
> (The man from U.N.C.L.E. 'crossover', spy!AU as Nations)  
> Where there's a secret to keep, a politician to save and a sniper to kill, there are a bunch of Nations ready to kick asses and do the dirtiest of jobs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I didn't post anything yesterday! I had an idea, but then I realised today's entry would took longer to write. In fact, I've just finished it!  
> I'm a big fan of Guy Ritchie's "The Man from U.N.C.L.E." movie, so I tried to write a spy!AU with the same kind of humor he uses in his movies. They're also Nations, so I hoped for it to get even more amusing.  
> I didn't have time to research properly for it as I usually do, so the historical informations in this are very vague and may not be perfectly accurated.
> 
> Be careful as it's **not beta-ed**! But I hope you'll like it anyway.

 

Being an excellent secret agent was one of the many skills he had developed being a Nation for so long.

So long as in all his life, which wasn't that long in comparison to elderly men like China or Greece, or veterans like France and Spain, but it had been long enough for him to sharpen the art of spying and work in the shadows.

Especially after the Second World War, with the unlucky beginning of the so called “Cold War”, every country had become more and more jealous of their own secrets, which had increased exponentially.

They started tying secret alliances with whom could become an enemy after not even a week; refused to give informations to friends of the “enemies”; recruited men and women of every class and type to work as infiltrators; arrested alleged traitors every other day.

Alfred F. Jones couldn't be a traitor, though.

He was the personification (the 'avatar', they were called) of the United States of America and he was also a hero. A hero loyal to his country and people, ready to sacrifice himself for their sake, prepared to use his secret, excellent spying skills to save as many American lives as possible.

 

The year was 1956 and he was assigned the task of infiltrating a private party of Hungarian politicians, steal informations about the MDP and, as usual, destroy the plans of world domination of the Commies. Ordinary administration.

 

The only thing his people didn't know, was that another secret organisation had been created during the Cold War that Alfred was part of.

It was called A.U.N.T.I.E., acronym of Association of the United Nations Troop for Intelligence and Enforcement, which was basically a group created by the avatars for the avatars, to work in complete harmony between each other, independently from the equivalent countries arrangements, to try and prevent another Great War and the resulting destruction of the whole World.

The name was hilarious and he was, of course, the proud ideator.

Every Nations had signed A.U.N.T.I.E.'s charter and was part of it, so every Nation was secretly giving informations about their countries' operations to the others, for the greater benefit of knowing exactly what, when, where and who could be trying to weaken the global equilibrium and operate immediately to prevent it from happening.

 

(That didn't technically make him a traitor, did it?)

 

Therefore, America was in Budapest that evening as both a CIA agent and an A.U.N.T.I.E. agent.

That meant the information he and his partners were going to obtain, had to be processed and analysed by the Nations' association before being considered safe to be delivered to the United States.

His partners for that task were England and, ironically enough, Russia. They also had a support team composed of Hungary, Austria and Poland.

 

The evening had been going great so far: he, England and Russia had been infiltrated as member of a Russian selsoviet interested in the metallurgic production (a cover that Ivan was particularly fond of, apparently), Hungary was hosting the party as herself, escorting her chief and superiors around the room, the food was great and the music was provided by Austria, obviously posing as the designed pianist.

England was conversing in his quick and perfected Russian with members of the Hungarian Working People's Party and he wasn't even drinking alcohol, something that unfortunately couldn't be said for Russia, who had his personal flask of vodka stashed under the long coat he had decided to keep wearing inside the venue.

“Stop drawing attention to yourself,” had warned him England in a whisper, adjusting the lapel of his own tuxedo.

“Stop speaking English,” had retorted the Russian Nation with his usual calm and fake smile.

America had snorted and England had elbowed him in the gut.

 

When Poland, who had volunteered for the role of lookout, gave them the signal, he and England sneaked inside the nearest empty room and set a transmitter receiver, which had been hidden for them by Hungary, to intercept all the signals from the bugs they had stuck on the most interesting guests.

“Too noisy!” protested England, removing the headphones from his ears and quickly changing the channels on the radio buttons to listen to one level at time.

America had to keep an eye on the door, but he couldn't stop glancing back at Arthur's concentrated face every now and then.

“This tux really suits you,” he said at some point: “And the green tie compliments your eyes.” he added.

“Thank you,” replied without thinking the English Nation, then realised the implication and grinned back at the American.

“Are you trying to suggest something, love?” he asked.

“I don't know. Are you interested in something?” replied with the same smile America.

“Stop it, you two,” called Poland's voice from outside the room: “You have work to do and you are, like, so totally not good at flirting.”

England rolled his eyes and got back to his task, moving his long fingers on the levels.

After some time, he broke the silence saying: “I think we have him.”

“Where is he?” asked the American, looking down at the small radar screen wired to the transmitter. Arthur pointed to a blinking green point, moving around the screen slowly.

“I'll get Ivan,” said immediately America.

“Be careful.” replied England.

 

Russia was not far from the room, in a corner convenient enough to monitor all the guests without being noticed. America approached him after having identified the suspect.

“The guy in a blue suit and grey tie, with the black case. He can be armed.” he said quickly to the Nation, careful not to be overheard by anyone else.

“Thank you, comrade.” smiled Russia, leaving his spot a walking slowly toward his target.

America smiled at Hungary from the other side of the room and nodded to Austria, who just glanced at him briefly while still playing.

England was already back outside, smiling politely to a pair of young ladies.

Russia was definitely not going to take long with the informations acquisition, thought America.

 

They were back to their hotel room and England was reading through the papers Russia had stolen from the target, belly down on their king-size bed.

America found him like that coming out of the bathroom after a quick shower.

“I swear I have face powder everywhere now. I can't make it go away!” protested the American, brushing his face and looking at his hand to see if some more white powder was still plastered to his skin.

“It can't be helped. You need it every time we work in Eastern Europe, darling.” said England, eyes glued to the page he was reading: “Your skin tone is too dark to pass for a Russian.”

“Yeah... my Russian is good, though.” he replied, smiling: “Almost as much ad yours.”

“You like me talking Russian?” asked England, slightly surprised.

“I like you talking every language you know,” replied casually America.

“Flattery won't get you anywhere.” said England with a sly, playful glance at his partner.

America shrugged, tossing his damp towel off his shoulders: he was wearing hi nightwear's bottom, but nothing was covering his toned torso. He also wasn't wearing his glasses.

“I don't need flattery to get where I want.” he retorted.

“You're bold tonight,” observed England: “What made you so hungry?”. He put the papers aside on the bedside table and rolled around on his back in order to face the other completely.

America crawled on the bed and on England while replying: “Secret missions make me nervous and when nervousness goes away it makes me kind of horny. Also, you make me horny.” he looked into England's eyes, very near now and very big and dark with lust.

“Me? What do I do?” he faked innocence, one hand placing on America's hip to keep him balanced and the other carding lazily through the younger Nation's still damp hair.

“You're sexy in a black tux and green tie.” explained America, brushing his lips on England's but refusing to kiss him properly. The game was still on.

England closed his eyes briefly, the glanced down to his now dishevelled attire, with a wrinkled white shirt, his tie undone and lacking the jacket: “Do you want me to keep this on?” he asked playfully.

America shook his head, then silenced the other by kissing him deeply, moving his hands on the smaller body beneath him to pop open the first two buttons of England's shirt.

“You're even sexier naked.” he murmured with a smile. England gasped and tugged lightly on his hair when America bent down, kissing and licking the other Nation's skin as soon as he exposed it.

A loud bang made them jump and froze as Russia came barging into the room, calmly but firmly asserting: “Quit fornicating. We need the informations.”

“Oh, bloody hell...” sighed England, massaging his temples.

America got up from his bent position and sat on the bed with a very annoyed expression: “Buddy, what happened to knocking?” he asked Russia.

“We don't knock in Soviet Russia,” shrugged the other Nation, reaching for the papers on the bedside table and plopping down on an armchair near the window to read.

“I'm sorry,” mouthed America to England, who got up and headed to the bathroom for a quick (and cold) shower.

Before closing the door, England threw a murdering glance to Russia, who seemed not to notice it or completely ignore it.

 

There was going to be a big demonstration in Budapest in two days and one member of the MDP had given orders to the police and army to intervene against it, repressing the protestants. The demonstration was however pacific and with no second intentions that could offend or arm the government, so repress it would cause a public revolt, possibly helped by forces inside the country which pressed toward Western Europe's politic. A revolt could cause the USSR to intervene militarily in the country, causing a bigger political issue, possibly worldwide.

“So we need to... revoke the order of intervention?” asked America, who was smoking his cigarette at the open window, his glasses and a shirt back on.

Russia nodded, but England added: “And also save this man.”

He showed the photo of a politician.

“He's the favourite candidate to take the lead. He'll be marching with the people and students and apparently, the current leadership hired a sniper to kill him.”

“Wow, this is big.” said America, picking up the picture to look better at it: “Poor guy, what did he do?”.

“He's a moderate who likes the UN better than the CCCP.” replied Russia.

“Who doesn't, uh?” joked America, completely ignored by the other two.

“America, can you work on the police and army issue? I guess me and Russia can take care of the sniper at the demonstration.” decided England: “Tell the others.” asked then to the Russian Nation before exiting the room to make a phone call in the lobby.

“What are you gonna say to yours?” asked America finishing his smoke.

“Just the protestants' part, I think. And that there are no menaces.” replied Russia, looking back at him with his unreadable violet eyes.

“Okay, same.” sighed America, closing the window and reaching for the room's private telephone.

 

The preparation part the next day went down smoothly.

America took Hungary out for lunch and looked handsome enough to get what he wanted.

Hungary knew who to call and what to say to get the order removed. No one would suspect anything until the next day, at demonstration ended and civilian lives saved.

Russia had studied the protesters' designed route and found two possible spots for the sniper to chose, while England had infiltrated the government's offices and found the tracks of the contact with the killer, confirming one of the two locations.

The evening before the demonstration America tried again to get into his boyfriend's pants, buying him a fancy bottle of wine and flowers.

But England was polishing and charging their guns and planning the transfers with Russia, who camped out in their room like he wasn't aware of not having being invited, so he went to bed, absolutely frustrated.

 

“Alfred's not in a good mood.” observed Russia, his eyes covered by the binoculars he was using to observe the demonstration pass beneath the roof where he and England were hiding.

“It happens every once in a while,” replied England, his back pressed against the concrete of the barrier they were concealed with.

“I'm sure he's just nervous for the mission.” said Russia, after thinking about it.

“Yes, definitely.” sighed England with a knowing smile the other wasn't even interested in reading.

“Uh-oh.” said suddenly Russia, still looking into the binoculars.

“What is it?” asked England, alarmed. He got up cautiously and looked down to the street.

“Our man is three men, apparently.” said Russia, pointing to three tiny shining points on the roofs and at a window surrounding the street.

“For fuck's sake!” moaned England, snatching the binoculars out of Russia's hands to have a better look. The snipers were already positioned and the protestants were already marching nearer.

There was no time left.

“I'll take the window, you take this one beneath us. Then we run as fast as we can to get the last one.” he instructed, getting up and running out of the room, down the building's stairs.

“Al,” he spoke into his transmitter while running: “We have not one, but three friends. Where are you?”.

The receiver crackled and America's voice replied: “On my way.”

“See you in five minutes.” he said, sneaking out of the building and crossing rapidly the street on a shadowy corner not to get seen by the snipers.

He jumped on the iron external staircase of the building and climbed up the floors, while getting his gun ready to fire with the silencer on.

He got into an open window and sneaked out of the room inside, apparently, a civilian house of an elderly couple who gasped and almost burst into tears seeing an armed man running into their house and opening the front door to get outside.

“I'm very sorry, have a good day!” he exclaimed in Hungarian before leaving, closing the door over the pale faces of the two poor elders.

He run up the stairs to the sniper window's floor and found the right apartment's door open. He gulped down air to steady his breath and entered the flat cautiously, his pistol ready.

The apartment was empty and clearly unoccupied, the perfect location for a killer to set his instruments. A soft breeze came from one of the rooms and Arthur stepped slowly inside, spotting a big black shotgun on its stand before an open window and a pack of cartridge.

No one else.

“Shit!” he hissed, quickly scanning the room and the rest of the apartment.

“Fuck!” he exclaimed louder once he figured out they had been fooled: “Ivan!” he barked into the receiver: “There's no one here!”.

“Comrade, I'm a bit busy at the moment.” replied the laboured but still calm voice of the big Russian.

Arthur looked outside and found out he could very much distinguish two people fighting near the second sniper's spot.

“Where is your gun?” he asked.

“Dropped.” said the Russian.

“Where's his?” he asked again.

“Dropped. Can you help?” asked Russia, sounding slightly annoyed.

“Of course.” replied England, laying down on the floor to look into the shotgun's viewfinder and find his target.

“Be a dear and keep him still.” he asked politely, hearing a grunt from the receiver.

He saw Russia punch the criminal in the face, then bear-hugging him to keep him very still.

England shot and the man fell at Russia's feet.

“You didn't kill him.” mocked Russia from the transmitter.

“I didn't have to,” replied the British Nation, moving away from the window and resuming his run down the stairs to get to the third point.

“Where was yours?” asked the Russian, panting as well.

“I don't know, I don't...” then he realised: “He must have seen us.”

“And? He run away?” asked Russia.

England stopped his run and looked back at the flight of stairs above his head.

Then he turned around: “He went to complete his mission.” he said.

“I'm on it.” declared America's voice from the receiver, startling both the other Nations.

 

America had arrived near the demonstration's street and had parked their car in the designed spot. Then he had turned on the radio and listened to England not finding his man, helping Russia and then moving to his next target.

He looked up to the windows of the buildings surrounding the street and found the one from which England was coming from.

The protestants were marching in the street and Alfred could easily distinguish the politician they were protecting walk slowly with them, at the centre of a group of people.

Soon enough, a man dressed in black could be spotted walking in the other direction of the marching people. America approached him faster but without being noticed and, with one smooth movement, stopped him with one hand on the man's hand holding a gun and the other, holding America's gun, pressed to the man's back.

“Don't move, friend” he murmured to the other's ear, in Hungarian.

 

Meanwhile, England and Russia were busy fighting a group of killers.

The third spot had been an hiding place of criminals, armed to their finest.

The two Nations had barged in before realising their mistake and were currently running down long flight of stairs while shooting and trying not to be shoot.

“I'm done and ready to get away.” communicated America through the transmitter.

“Not yet, please!” screamed back England shooting with precision at a killer's hand, disarming him.

“It can't go on like this!” yelled Russia, suddenly very frustrated.

He grabbed England by the middle and tossed him over his shoulder, like a sack of potatoes. The British Nation squeaked in a not very manly way, crying out: “What are you doing!? Put me down, you primitive oaf!” but was ignored.

Russia started jumping down the flight of stairs while still dodging bullets, and explained: “We need to go faster and you run like my aunt!”

“You're a Nation, you don't have an aunt!” replied very angrily England, aiming and shooting at the criminals still chasing them, aided by the position he was in.

Russia stopped at a long corridor on the fourth or third floor and started running down it.

“Give me your gun!” screamed England, receiving the weapon from the Russian Nation and then shooting with both hands.

“Prepare to fly.” warned Russia, aiming toward a broken window at the end of the corridor.

“Ivan, no!” cried England, terrified by the realisation of what was going to happen.

“Ivan yes.” was the only reply as the Russian stepped over the windowsill and jumped, falling down about two stores to land on the top of a smaller house, all the while England was yelling a long: “I haaaateee yooouuuu!” and still shooting at the enemies.

The killers didn't follow them down and only the last gunshot was heard by the people in the street, but the demonstration had already walked away and the rest of the pedestrians weren't quick enough to see the two Nations falling and climb down the house walls from the side. Neither did anyone see the two reaching a parked car and jumping in.

America, who was waiting for them, started the engine as soon as the two were settled.

“Nice stunt.” he grinned, looking bemusedly at their dishevelled attire and still half-shocked expressions as he quickly drove away.

“Sod off,” promptly replied England, very angered: “Next time I'm assigned a mission, I'm choosing two partners that I don't hate as much as you two.”

“You hate everyone.” pointed out Russia, regaining his calm and creepy smile.

“You don't hate me.” observed America.

“As long as you do your job, I guess...” replied England.

“You mean this job or the one I do after the missions, under the sheets...?” asked the American with a sly grin.

England grinned back and was about to reply when Russia intervened: “I'm right here.” he said, placidly but with a dangerous hint of warning in his tone: “And I really don't want to know.”

 

The mission was, surprisingly, considered accomplished.

Apart from the unexpected accident with the band of criminals, which they spoke about with Ms. Hungary, the rest of the job had been completed and the politician as well as many other people's lives had been saved.

They didn't know however that in one week time the demonstrations would become much more frequent and big and would cause a revolt against the government, an uprising which would cost many lives and the intervention of Russia's army, in the end.

But for that day, they had done what the A.U.N.T.I.E. (and their countries) had asked them to do.

 

And America was waiting for his personal reward, naked in bed.

England came out from the bathroom wearing only a tiny white towel tied around his hips and teased him with flirty looks and deliberately slow movements.

That was when the phone rang and they both groaned in frustration.

“What?” asked America, expecting to hear Russia's voice on the other side of the receiver.

Instead, it was Germany: “You need to report the mission. We're expecting you in Paris, your private flight leaves in one hour. Get ready.” and nothing more.

America looked back at England with a blank expression and said: “Paris in one hour.”

England swore loudly.

“Like hell I'm waiting to be in the frog's dominion to shag you properly.” he declared, making America slightly blush.

“So,” the British Nation started, jumping on the bed and crawling on top of America to kiss him deeply, hungrily: “Be prepared to get a bit late to the airport.” he smirked, lifting one hand to remove the younger Nation's glasses from his face and put them on the bedside table.

“I like that.” smiled America, untying England's towel and tossing it away, completely exposing the naked body of the other Nation, who bent down to kiss him again.

America stopped to take a breath and asked: “Do you think we should tell Ivan to get ready?”

“Probably,” replied England, slightly annoyed by the interruption: “But right now, just shut up.”

America laughed, then closed his eyes and let the tiredness wash away from his body. It felt good to be resting after such an eventful day, lying down on a soft bed and with England's mouth mapping his skin, fuelling their passion.

He however startled and opened his eyes back in alarm as he heard England choke and cough.

“What's wrong?” he asked, preoccupied as the other coughed again.

“Damn that skin powder!” cried out the Brit, making the American laugh out loud.

 


	4. Day 6: Choose two or more AU - Hero's dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Day 6** : Choose two or more AU - Hero's dream  
> (superhero!AU & celebrity!AU)  
> Captain Freedom has a big fat crush on rockstar Arthur Kirkland of the Akuyu band. He's ready to do anything to meet his idol, even transform during a concert and save his life!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly had so much fun writing today's entry.  
> I'm both a Marvel fan and a big pop/rock music listener, so I've had many ideas about a superhero!AU and a celebrity/rockstar!AU with the Akuyu (which means 'bad friends' in Japanese) band. I guess if they were real I could become an Artonio shipper in no time XD *her SpUK senses are tingling*  
> In this, Russia is the villain but just because I needed one.
> 
> Also this work is **not beta-ed** so please be careful! Sorry for any mistake.  
>  Enjoy!

Finally, today was The Day.

Not only that, but this evening was The Evening and guess what? It was already evening.

Today, 6 th of May 2016, there was going to be the first Akuyu concert in Ohio.

It was the only date the Akuyu were going to hold in Columbus and of course they had to choose the biggest venue possible to perform, since their popularity in the States had increased exponentially in the last two years.

Alfred F. Jones, though, had been a fan of their music since day one.

And this evening, Alfred F. Jones was a bundle of nerves and anticipation, so ready but also so not ready to meet his idols for the first time.

 

He and his friends had decided to meet in front of the gate indicated on their tickets, since the concert's stadium was very big and people were going to be everywhere. He and his twin brother Matthew had arrived one hour early, too excited to wait longer at home.

Elizaveta arrived not so much later with her friend Feliks, and then Kiku with his boyfriend Heracles.

“How are you, Alfie?” asked Liz with a knowing smile: “Ready to snatch away the heart of our favourite lead vocalist?” They all laughed.

“Please, Liz... he's not even gonna see me, with so many people around.” he replied, with a smile. Oh, he wished he could, though.

Meet the green green (GREEN!) eyes of Arthur Kirkland during the concert and, just like that, steal the Englishman's heart.

Arthur Kirkland was the main vocalist and second guitar of the Akuyus.

He was a charismatic and charming great performer, a gentleman and a heart-breaker in his private life and Alfred's dream boyfriend since the day he had started listening to the man's voice, back in 2012, on small videos of cover songs on Youtube.

Not only his voice, though, was what had made Alfred, a nineteen-years-old American college student, fall hard and steady for Kirkland: the guy was tiny, slim and lean, pale and freckled (FRECKLED!), blonde and absolutely badass. He dressed in black skinny jeans, leather jackets and had a huge collections of rings, necklaces and earrings.

He was perfect.

“Earth to Alfred,” called the voice of Matthew near his ear, startling him: “Are you too busy daydreaming about your crush or can we go?” asked amusedly his twin.

“Leave me alone.” he grunted, following his friends inside the stadium.

 

They had to slalom between other small and big groups of people: other regular fans with friends, younger kids with their parents as chaperones and of course squads of hardcore fangirls with matching t-shirts and signboards with names of their ships and pairings written on them.

“Giltur fans are the worst,” said Elizaveta as soon as they reached their seats, in the centre of the parterre area, about ten rows from the stage.

“Gilbert is so obviously straight and they're all a bunch of delusional young girls, I feel sorry for them.” she stated, pitiless.

“I personally don't support Frantonio and Artonio either,” said calmly Kiku: “But Frantur is not so bad.”

“Oh, please!” protested Feliks rotating his eyes: “Frantur fans are like, everywhere and they're sooo hysterical! I disapprove.” he said, snapping his fingers.

“Well, at least Francis and Arthur had publicly admitted they had dated in the past... all the other couples are pretty much all made-up by the fandom, since they all declared they're just friends.” said Matthew.

“I can't really picture Arthur and Francis being friends, I'm sorry...” laughed Alfred: “They always look like they hate each other's guts.”

“I like Artonio.” declared suddenly Heracles, startling everyone who had never heard him talk so directly before: “There's something fishy between them, I like it.”

And like that, the case was closed.

Except for Liz, who whispered to Alfred's ear: “Don't worry, I know you don't like fandom ships. You want Arthur all for yourself, right?” with a small wink.

Alfred blushed and shook his head in embarrassment, making his friend laugh.

She liked Gilbert, the German (or Prussian, as he preferred to be called during interviews) bassist, even though she pretended not to and instead of his merchandising, had her whole room covered in pictures of Antonio, the Spanish lead guitarist.

His brother Matthew was a fan of Gilbert too, but he also liked Francis, the French drummer.

Kiku and Heracles didn't seem to have preferences and where there only because they enjoyed the music. Feliks called himself and aesthete and was probably at the concert only to look at the clothes, scenic design and lightings and judge them hard.

 

They waited some more, chatting with each other and trying to contain their excitement in trembling hands and shaking knees- Then the concert started.

With a roar from the audience and the booming of music from the speakers, the Akuyus entered the stage and performed their usual opening song, their signature: 'Europe's bad friends'.

Alfred sang all the lyrics, his eyes glued on the figure at the centre of the stage: Arthur was so near and so much beautiful in real life than on pictures and videos on Alfred's computer screen.

He was impeccably dressed in jeans, studs belt and checked shirt open over a white v-neck.

His silver rings and jade green long earring on his left earlobe shined in the white and blue lights of the stage.

Alfred was floating, mesmerized by the sight, enchanted by his idol, his Arthur Kirkland singing and playing just a few feet from him. It felt like a dream.

Matthew smiled at him and Liz screamed: “Arthuuuur! Your boyfriend's heeereee!” during the second song, which made him laugh and blush and love every passing minute of the show.

 

Suddenly, between the fourth and fifth song, while the band was having a small pause and chat with the audience as they were changing instruments for their unplugged session, a scream could be heard from the very front rows.

The four performers' attention was immediately drawn by the crowd in that spot, which started moving quickly away and form a bigger and bigger circle around the single figure of a man all dressed in red and with a cape.

Alfred startled, realising before everyone else who it was.

“The Commie Soldier!” he exclaimed under his breath.

Matthew looked at him, alarmed: “Al... what do we do?” he asked, in a whisper.

Kiku too had looked their way, serious and concentrated.

The Super-villain was screaming his evil plan of kidnapping the European band to make a public declaration against the EU's corrupted democracy, all the while pointing a big gun right at Arthur, who had frozen on his feet and turned pale, obviously scared.

“We have to fight.” replied Alfred to his brother, but then warned: “Not you, this time. It's too dangerous. Stay here, I've got this.” and slowly backed away, not to be noticed by their other friends, anyway still too shocked and concentrated on the scene before their eyes.

He reached the side of the stage and quickly transformed, helped by the amazing high-tech device Kiku had built for him: his genius friend had stored his whole suit inside his wristwatch.

Then he run up the stage in time to stop the evil Commie Soldier.

“Freeze, villain!” he exclaimed, his best hero-voice booming in the big and suddenly very quiet venue.

As soon as the audience spotted him in all his superhero's glory, they cheered as loud as they had during the concert.

“Captain Freedom...” he saw more than heard his name on Arthur Kirkland's lips. The man was still pale and frightened, but was looking at Alfred's alter-ego with relief and admiration and Alfred's legs shook a little with joy.

“You won't be able to stop me this time, comrade!” exclaimed the Commie Soldier, jumping on stage to grab Arthur's arm and bring him closer, pointing the gun at the vocalist's neck.

Everyone gasped and some small girl in the back started crying.

“I won't be so sure, pal! Let him go!” he yelled, ready to fight the villain but scared to hurt his Arthur in that position. The singer's green eyes where still shining with a mix of fear and admiration and Alfred was seriously so in love.

“You are no one, Captain Freedom! Your capitalistic reign has come to an end! I will destroy your... ARGH!” cried out the Soldier in the middle of his evil monologue.

Arthur had surprised him and everyone else with a strong back-kick to the super-villain's groin, making him lose his grip on the gun and recoil enough for the singer to run away.

Captain Freedom saw his chance and took it: he delivered a spectacular series of Freedom Punches and Liberty Kicks to his arch-enemy, inciting the audience's frenzy.

Soon, the Commie Soldier was forced to run away, escaping once again the arms of justice but still beaten and punished by Freedom's judgement.

Everyone cheered and screamed in joy.

Captain Freedom smiled and waved at the general public, but his eyes were still fixed on his sexy, brave and now officially very ass-kicking favourite Englishman, who blushed at the attentions.

“I've always wanted to meet you, Captain.” admitted Arthur shyly, a whisper only Alfred could hear since there were no microphones near them.

The audience was holding their breath in anticipation and so were Alfred's friends, Matthew and the other three members of Akuyu.

“The pleasure is all mine, Arthur.” he said in the low voice he used as Captain Freedom: “Big fan.” he couldn't help but add.

Arthur smiled and got closer, now more confident: “Pleasure.” he replied, smirking.

Alfred gulped, realising with a shiver the singer was flirting with him, well... with his alter-ego! In public!

“I hope you will accept this gift as a sign of gratitude...” whispered Arthur, his eyes glued on Alfred's.

They were closer, closer and Arthur was slowly gripping at his arm, slightly bending his head, closing his eyes... they were SO going to kiss, when...

 

He woke up with a yelp, realising from the pain on the back of his neck that he had been hit with a slap.

“What the heck, man???” he cried, looking at his twin brother.

“Pay attention in class and sleep at night, Alfred-san.” said Kiku, almost harshly.

“Geez, pal... you take engineering lessons too seriously.” protested Alfred.

The lesson was still on and Alfred figured out he'd better take notes instead of going back to his beloved dream of saving his idol's life and steal his heart and marry him.

“Al,” warned him Matthew, pointing suddenly to his brother's wristwatch.

It was flashing.

“An emergency. Kiku, we have to go.” said Alfred, getting up from his seat and running out of the classroom with his two partners, without being noticed.

“Ready to fight, Captain Freedom?” asked Matthew, pressing a button on his own wristwatch to change into his suit.

“Ready as always, Maple-man!” he replied to his sidekick.

 


	5. Day 7: Free day! - #Arfie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Day 7** : Free day! - #Arfie  
> (Youtubers!AU)  
> Famous youtubers Alfred (alfredthehero, USA) and Arthur (TeaLoverArthur, UK) celebrate their first anniversary as a couple in a vlog.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who likes youtubers? I like youtubers.  
> Today's entry was meant to be slighlty different, but then since it's the last one and I have lot of work to do today, I cut it shorter and changed it a bit. Who knows, maybe someday I'll write it as it was supposed to be (I don't mind exploring the youtubers alternative universe a bit more **).
> 
> Since it's the last day of this Dimension Transcension Week, I'd like to thank everyone who read my works, left kudos and comments and appreciated them.  
> I'd also like to remind you all that my art-blog on Tumblr is [brightly-painted-canvas](http://brightly-painted-canvas.tumblr.com/) which is still quite new and doesn't have much followers, so please come have a look and let's chat about Hetalia (or youtubers!) and whatever XD *offers cookies*
> 
> Last but not least, please be careful as your read this last entry since, as well as the others, is **not beta-ed**.  
>  Enjoy!

The video opens on a shot of Alfred, pointing the camera toward the mirror in his bathroom.

The light is on but the contours of the room are not illuminated, a sign that it's still very dark outside.

“Good morning, people of the web. Whassup?” he asks whispering, happily but so unusually quiet: “As you can see, I'm still in my pyjamas...” he continues and yawns slowly.

He's not wearing a top and only has grey joggers on, as visible from the reflection in the mirror. He has his glasses on, but his hair are a mess and he still looks half-asleep.

“...And I'm also trying to be quiet, because... Artie's here.” he says, and he genuinely can't contains his simile: “He came flew in from London yesterday, as a surprise.”

Another pause as the camera lens adjusts his focus, while Alfred sighs in contentment: “I'm seriously so happy and so lucky to have him here. I've honestly thought about a lot of stuff I want to do today and show you so I really hope this vlog's gonna be very funny also for you guys. But, before that,” he adds: “It's early morning and I have lots of work to do, while he's still sleeping.”

Alfred moves and looks to his left, off screen: he's supposedly checking if Arthur hasn't woken up.

“He's not the best with jet-lag...” he says with a small grin, coming back on screen.

“See you in about... two hours? Bye.” he waves to the mirror.

 

Cut.

 

The camera focuses on a bed.

Alfred is in his bedroom and the curtains are open: sunlight streams from the window.

Alfred is filming a figure slowly toss and turning, completely covered by white sheets and duvet.

“You look like some kind of a worm,” laughs Alfred, off screen.

Arthur's voice comes muffled and very low, rough: “Piss off...” he mumbles.

Alfred laughs again and he climbs on the bed, careful not to step on Arthur.

One of his hands come on screen and pulls at the sheets, revealing the pained expression and ruffled hair of his boyfriend, who squirms and turn around: “Too much light!”

“Sorry, babe... but it's already ten thirty and you need to get up.” says Alfred, apologetic.

Arthur grunts and blinks slowly, then turns around to look at Alfred and notices the camera.

“Please, no...” he cries, closing his eyes again.

“C'mon, we said we'd vlogged today and it means all day!” exclaims Alfred.

Then the camera shakes as Alfred lies down beside Arthur, turning the camera around to film both him and his boyfriend.

Arthur leans against Alfred's shoulder and looks into the lens, still groggy.

“What day is today, babe?” asks Alfred, kissing the top of Arthur's head, a funny looking mass of confused blonde locks.

“The fifth of March?” asks Arthur, now smiling slightly: “Our first anniversary?”

“Mmmh” nods Alfred: “Are you ready to celebrate, Artie?” he whisper, like it's a secret.

Arthur sighs and shifts to hug Alfred closer, press a kiss on the other's chest and say: “Yes, but I need to wee first.”

“Wow, poetic.” comments Alfred as Arthur laughs and gets up, disappearing from the shot.

Alfred smiles up at the camera and says: “Here's the surprise, guys. I'm taking that sexy gentleman you just saw at Disneyland, today!” he exclaims, making Arthur grunt off screen.

“I'm gonna have fun, you are gonna have fun watching and he's gonna pretend he's not having fun while having fun so make sure to keep watching this video!” adds Alfred, winking.

“See you in a bit.” he cheers.

 

Cut.

 


End file.
